


The New Friends of Red Jenny

by CertifyyedGewn



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Dalish, F/M, Fluff, Halamshiral, Inquisition Agents (Dragon Age), Just a bit of Cullen/Levellan, Levellan's not dead, Protect Clan Levellan, Red Jenny - Freeform, Slow Burn, Spoilers, The Masked Empire, but then agony, she is so PISSED in this one, spies galore, too many lies too many lies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-10-22 12:04:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10696650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CertifyyedGewn/pseuds/CertifyyedGewn
Summary: The year is Dragon 9:48, four years after the disbanding of the Inquisition, and the famed Rogue Inquisitor Levellan is long dead. The Qunari and Tevinter Imperium wage a bloody war to the north, while Thedas slowly falls into chaos and civil unrest. Lurking in the shadows, Fen'Harel's forces grow each day, recently settled into the long-abandoned fortress at Skyhold and accepting new recruits into their spy network each day.One such volunteer, a one-armed mage with a feral grin and plenty of "friends" to spare offers them her services."My name is Jenny. Red Jenny. And you must suspect by now that you’ve a rat in your castle."





	1. Teaser

_Skyhold: Dragon 9:48, four years after the events at the Exalted Council and the disbanding of the Inquisition_

Lieutenant Isene, leader of the Agents of Fen'Harel at Tarasy’lan Te’las, stormed down from her post at the Rookery. Her heavy chain mail clinked with each step on the stone floors, and the many elves under her command scattered like mice at the sight of the powerful furrow of her brow.

Isene had arrived back at Skyhold a handful of hours ago from a meet in Tevinter, only to find out now that she had a dozen new prisoners in her dungeons. Behind her, Isene’s personal attendant, Mirwen, glued his eyes to the ground and kept pace.

“Linna!” Isene barked, and like a shadow, another, smaller elf appeared at her side. In her arms were stacks of reports, wrinkling under Linna’s vice-like grip.

“Hah’ren,” Linna mumbled with a dip of her head. Isene rolled her eyes and thundered down the first flight of the spiral staircases, beginning her journey down into Skyhold’s innermost chambers. The wooden steps creaked beneath their combined weight, left unattended by repairmen since the Inquisition had abandoned the place years ago. “Welcome back.”

“Mirwen’s tardy report informs me that we have prisoners. How did that happen, bookkeeper?”

Mirwen stepped forward. “Lieutenant, my deepest apologies, I—” 

Isene held up a hand, and the boy bit his tongue. “Linna?”

“Yes, Hah’ren!” Linna’s bare feet skittered along the uneven stone tiles, trying to keep pace with Isene’s long stride as she handed Isene a missive with the prisoner’s details. The girl had once been Dalish before joining the ranks of Fen Harel, though she no longer bore Vallasiln. Isene had never inquired about her origins – it was rude to do so in Fen'Harel’s service, with everyone’s background differing and some coping still with the shame of slavery or worse – but she could tell from the girl’s lilting accent and her green tunic, so customarily worn by the Dalish. “They’ve been down there almost a fortnight,” Isene repeated, glancing over the report. “They’ve been fed, have plenty of blankets. But why the dungeons?”

“We had nowhere else to put them,” Mirwen explained. “But in those icy dungeons at this time of year, anyone should be willing to speak up, at least about their purpose here.”

“Yes,” Isene snapped, “but it appears as though these trespassers are a little hardier than expected.” 

“Lieutenant--” Mirwen tried again.

“Enough, boy!” Isene halted, rounding on him. “This report says that a dozen potentially hostile elves were captured and held in the prisons for a _fortnight_ and I, Steward of Tarasy’lan Te’las, had no knowledge of it! That’s a fundamental neglect of your duties, Mirwen, and I’ll deal with you later. Report to the guardhouse and get ready for a dressing down when I get there. Dismissed.”

Mirwen bowed his head and didn’t raise his eyes as he slunk from Isene’s sight. Isene shook her head and resumed her walk. “Linna, with me,” she ordered the girl. 

Linna dipped her head. “Lieutenant, the trespassers refused to speak but by the word of their leader. And their leader won’t talk either. Not unless it’s to the one in charge of Tarasy’lan Te’las.”

“What’s the leader’s name?”

“She won’t give it." 

Isene grunted. “Figures.” 

It wasn’t the first time some roguish band and their bloated frontrunner had turned up at Skyhold’s doors, demanding an audience with Fen'Harel to stroke their own ego before offering aid. Linna herself had seen her share of those, yet Isene could tell from the girl’s face and manner that something was different about this particular group. Only a dozen, and refugees by the sound of them, and they refuse to offer information about themselves? If Isene had been ten years younger, she would have cut their throats for the insubordination.

“If they want our leader, that’d be Fen'Harel,” she growled. She waved off another two messengers who stopped in the doorway of the stairwell to let her pass, heads bowed. “And whatever hellspawn that draws him back to this place had better beware. He certainly wouldn’t return to greet any fool who demanded it.”

Linna followed at her heels as they entered the Rotunda. Isene had been here when the air had still smelt of the Dread Wolf’s paints, could remember the sound of laughter echoing over the stones and the hundreds of discarded candles, burned down to the wick from many late nights of research and paint and teaching. Now a dozen elves stood around a great, wooden table. The raised their heads in curiosity though decided against commenting, sensing Isene’s agitation even as she stormed past. Strategians and mages, smarter elves than Isene, plotted the course of Fen'Harel’s forces in Thedas, though they knew who ruled Tarasy’lan Te’las by the leave of the Dread Wolf. Their organization was barely that. They possessed no lands, no banners, and no army, and yet they had managed to re-take the Emerald Graves and the Arbor Wilds and bring Val Royeaux nearly to its knees in the resulting conflicts, all done without a single direct confrontation. But that was nearly a year ago now, and the Dread Wolf’s forces, while thriving, had abandoned direct conflict and instead moved from place to place, using the Eluvians of old.

“Right,” Linna whispered, drawing Isene from her thoughts. “The likelihood of Fen'Harel ever coming here… I did say that to them, of course, but for some reason they didn’t seem to want to speak with him. Hah’ren, forgive me, but I think they were waiting for you— for your return.”

Isene halted. “What makes you say that?” Neither her name nor her face were well marked in Thedas. It was her anonymity to all but those who served the Dread Wolf that made her especially useful.

“When I mentioned Fen'Harel would not come to meet her, the leader, she said— well it was rather cryptic. She said she wanted to meet the _Midha_ anyway.”

“She said _what?_ ” Isene hissed, gripping Linna to her. “The what?!”

“The—The _Midha_ , Lieutenant. I don’t know what that is either.”

Isene’s heart sank. Suddenly she was weighing whether or not to cut their new guests’ throats anyway. “And you shouldn’t. Very few know that name.” 

They were at the mouth of the Main Hall, sunlight peering through the wide open doors, the only source of light within. When Isene had arrived a year ago at the behest of Fen Harel, the long tables that had once blocked the place she now stood had been turned over and pushed against the walls to make way for emptying the keep.

After the Inquisition vanquished Corypheus years ago, the place downsized as merely the home of the Inquisitor and the staff was halved to accommodate her rare needs and the general upkeep of the castle. Inquisition forces were instead spread abroad in Ferelden and Orlais in their many camps. During her time as an Inquisition Scout, Isene had seen that very hall bathed in golden light of the torches, filled with song and laughter of soldiers and the nobles who visited on occasion. When the Inquisitor died, Tarasy’lan Te’las was abandoned altogether for two long years. They’d only begun moving back a few months ago as Fen'Harel’s forces were expanding. Now the Main Hall lay bare of all furnishings— no torches were lit and the dark made it difficult to tread at times— yet elves dashed to and fro, with orders, with birds, or with more news. Skyhold’s position between Orlais and Ferelden made it the perfect conduit for information, and the castle remained both Isene’s great reward for many years of service and her great burden.

“You said they were found in a blizzard?” she asked. 

“Yes…” Linna hesitated. “Lieutenant, I did not embellish my report. The leader of their company is... Well she’s clearly powerful, but young – younger than you even. And Lieutenant, she has only one arm. The left is severed at the elbow. Just like—”

“I know what you’re thinking, and you’re _wrong_ , Linna. She was a Rogue anyway – her weapon was the bow, not the staff.”

“Yes, but there was proof otherwise with what happened at Wycome, and…”

“Enough!” Isene snarled. “No matter what you may believe, people _do not_ come back from the dead!” The Main Hall quieted at her sudden outburst, and before Linna could protest, Isene dragged her by her arm down an adjacent stairwell, down, down to the dungeons. “Not even the Inquisitor.” 

Linna quieted down, and as they descended the stone staircases in the dark, the air grew colder. One torch was lit at another doorway at the bottom of the winding tunnel, its orange glow casting onto the iron and wood door.

Linna’s soft voice split the chilly air. “None of us knew what she looked like, Lieutenant. We could never say from just seeing her.” Linna’s green eyes were wide and full of hope that only the zealous knew. “You saw her, when you worked for the Inquisition. If she has returned…”

“You’re wearing on my patience.” Isene snatched a torch from its peg on the wall and nearly cracked the door as she kicked it wide open. The two guards in the corridor jumped, blades suddenly drawn at the commotion. Good. Isene would not be the only one uncomfortable today. “I’ll not have rumors spreading through Tarasy’lan Te’las under my command. If the Dread Wolf ever caught wind of it…” She waved a hand, and the guards relaxed and nodded their heads. When she stepped further into the chamber, they turned to flank her.

One of them cleared his throat, and Isene turned to listen. The male elven guardsman was slight, his hood pulled up over his ears, and he kept his face hidden under a loosely draped mask. An atypical choice for a guardsman, but Isene let it slide, given the circumstances. Agents of Fen'Harel were often particular about their identities even in relative safety. “Glad you’re here, Lieutenant.”

“Yes. I’ve been told about these new… visitors we have,” Isene said, looking them both over warily. By the size of their eyes, she suspected that Linna’s big mouth had infected them as well. She sighed. “Have they said nothing to you about their identities?” 

“No, Lieutenant. Not a word spoken amongst them, other than their leader. They were found by a patrol scouting the northern woods. We thought they might be from near Orzammar or perhaps further north. When we first brought them in, they were treated like any other – given food, a place to wash. But once we saw what their leader looked like. Lieutenant, her arm—” 

“—Yes, as if no one else in the world is capable of having a severed arm,” Isene cut him off. “Show me to the cell. I’ll not waste a second more on these nonsensical rumors.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Isene glanced on either side of her, noting the other prisoners in their cells, one short from a dozen as the report had said both men and women. From her brief perusal as she passed, Isene could see no uniform in their dress nor obvious fashions to declare if they were Orlesian, Ferelden, or of some other origin. They looked roguish and untidy, dirt smearing their faces, as if recovering from a long journey, but that was typical of the Elves who came to Skyhold. What was unusual was the steel in each of their eyes, how they glanced toward Isene and then away, but not down as a slave or prisoner would – it was the diverted gaze of those used to being imprisoned and showing disinterest toward their guards. Well.

Isene followed the two sentries to the last door at the end of the hallway, where the walls sloped slightly downward. Even before her escort opened the door, she could feel the chill of the chamber beyond. Skyhold sat at the edge of the mountaintop, a corner of its foundation carved away by a massive waterfall that spilled from its guts. When standing in the Undercroft, the chill from the rushing water was not so bad, taken off by the constant, north-driving wind, but in the dungeons the air froze instantly in the dead of winter. Isene stifled a shiver, but at her side, Linna brought her arms around herself and her teeth chattered. Two pathways of rickety boardwalk extended on either side, shuddering under the powerful gusts of wind. The waterfall swallowed the center of the chamber and opened to the Frostback mountains beyond, so loud that Isene could no longer hear the clink of her armor as she followed the guards down the left pathway.

She avoided looking down, where the mists of the waterfall obscured the bottom of the chasm below, fearing the sensation of vertigo. Empty cells, some caked with evidence from the Inquisitor’s old prisoners and some left hollow from lack of use, lay with their doors open, while only one at the end remained shut.

“Is there a reason you chose to place their leader in this cell, so far away from the others and in this icy place?” Isene asked the guards.

“Well, she is a Mage, Lieutenant,” the guard protested. “I heard when the scouts happened upon her and her men in the woods, the two groups surprised one another. She cast a Force spell on them. Most of them fainted from the shock of it. Took Manehn two days to wake. We didn’t want to take any chances.”

“You mean if she ends up being the Inquisitor, raised from the dead?”

He dipped his head, eyes lowering to the ground and unable to offer further explanation. Both guards stopped walking just short of the final door.

“That one, is it?” Isene asked, affecting more nonchalance than she felt. The word  _Midha_ echoed in her head and the feeling of dread accompanied it. What was it about this prisoner that already felt off? She’d never seen so many elves under her command – under the ancient Elvhen Fen'Harel’s command – so spooked. She approached the door, holding in a breath.

Skyhold’s prison cells were enchanted, preventing any Mage from casting while within and any warrior from breaking them with their bare hands. The smooth, amber-colored walls remained unmolested; a strange stillness lay inside. The single occupant, a thin elven woman, sat on the narrow bench against the far wall, in naught but a simple set of brown hunting gear with a red hood popping out of the back of a long, dark cloak. Face obscured by dark shadows, she did not turn nor stir at Isene’s approach, though she must have known she was there. Peering closer, Isene could see the woman’s left arm, or lack thereof, peeking from the folds of the cloak– it was nothing but a stub, the fabric of her shirt bunched in a knot where her forearm and hand should have been. So that detail at least was true.

“Well,” Isene barked, hardening her voice. “You’ve requested an audience of the leader of Tarasy’lan Te’las. I am Lieutenant Isene, originally of Kirkwall in the Free Marches.” 

The woman in the cell snickered, though she did not stir. “That’s quite an introduction for a spy. A bit honest, isn’t it?”

Isene bristled at the lack of respect in the woman’s voice. She noted warily that despite being left in these freezing conditions for the better part of a fortnight, the woman didn’t appear to be any worse for wear. Even Isene’s arms pricked with goose pimples at the frigid air. “Skyhold is my station now, and if I wished to conceal my identity from you, I wouldn’t have offered my name. Who do you serve, woman?” 

Another laugh echoed over the ancient stones. “Why must I serve someone? Hasn’t the plight of the elves always been centered on service? Slavery, serfdom…”

“Those who come here either wish to serve Fen'Harel or will not be allowed admittance,” Isene cut off.

“Really? But I’ve already been invited in. The room you’ve prepared for me is _lovely_.”

Isene kept her temper in check. She’d never played the Orlesian Game but could certainly tell when it was being played with her. The prisoner knew how to twist her words, to mock and incite a hasty response to get Isene to reveal more in her anger. She took a calming breath, keeping it as silent as possible. Without turning from the prisoner, she barked, “Guards, and Linna – that’s enough for now. I’d like to speak with her alone.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” the guards said instantly. The two stepped away but remained within eyesight. Linna hesitated a moment, fighting against her curiosity no doubt. A cold look from Isene prompted her to dip her head and follow the guards to their posts.

“There,” Isene said quietly, when they were alone. “Now will you be a little more cooperative?”

The figure did not respond right away, so tranquil that she could have been one with the walls. Isene found her breath stilling, waiting. She felt wrong almost, in the presence of this strange woman, a cold dread creeping up her spine along with a tinge of dreadful familiarity. No wonder Linna was convinced she was a ghost.

“Yes,” the woman said in a low voice. 

“Then tell me who you are.” 

“How about I tell you who _you_ are?” the woman offered. Her teeth gleamed in the faint light, rimmed by wine-colored lips. Isene stared transfixed. “In Fen'Harel’s service, there are many of the old Inquisition, though none so imbedded as you. You were a Scout of the Nightingale, discovered during the first month of the Inquisition and instantly trusted after you blazed a trail with Scout Harding through the Hinterlands. Back then you went by Ariana, a simple escapee of the violence at Kirkwall and your alias was Cobbler under the Nightingale. When Corypheus attacked, you escaped the destruction of Haven, migrated north here to Skyhold, where at some point you fell into a secret collaboration with Fen'Harel, then known as Solas, the elven apostate who was deep in the Inquisitor’s circle. Not long after, he revealed himself as the Dread Wolf of Old to you, in which you became one of the very first Agents of Fen'Harel.” 

Isene’s heart dropped; her breath caught. Her eyes drifted down, to the woman’s severed arm. Linna’s words echoed in her ears as if freshly spoken. It couldn’t be…

The woman continued in a cold voice. “You were his most trusted spy, and he guided you to rise within the Nightingale's ranks so you could remain with the Inquisitor, watching her, even after the Inquisition was disbanded. Fen'Harel, the Great Dread Wolf, the bogeyman of Dalish nightmares, declared you his _Midha_ , the blade of the night, the assassin sent to cut away his adversaries. You could strike at the Inquisition in the night and then loyally serve them the following day, mourning with them while plans of your own make came to pass. When the Inquisitor died two years ago, your service under the Inquisition was, of course, no more. You fled Tevinter, where she had been slain, and joined with Fen'Harel’s forces in the recently claimed fortress at the Arbor Wilds.”

The stump moved, as did the woman, a mere twist of her torso and suddenly she was on her feet with all the grace and feral energy of a cat. But she remained infuriatingly in the shadows with the red hood pulled over her head, and Isene was unable to see her face.

“From there, Fen'Harel’s forces stirred like a whirlwind and then all at once, ancient places were reclaimed – the ruins at the Emerald Graves, Dirthamen's temple north of the Waking Sea, Halamshiral - that was quite a feat - and even here at Tarasy’lan Te’las, where soon you were made commander, an arm more than a blade now, don’t you think?”

Isene fought to keep from shaking in both shock and rage. It was all true. All spoken with such confidence as if this woman had lived it all herself. That meant there were rats amongst the agents of Fen'Harel, a breach in her security that her master could not afford.

“Who… who are you?” she growled, fighting for her anger not to merge with panic, to not throw herself against the bars and strangle the woman. 

“I’m someone with a lot of friends. And despite what you may think, I came here to make some more.” The woman cocked her head to the side. “Amongst the elves here, amongst the Agents of Fen'Harel. I’ve also come with information.”

“More than what you already possess?” Isene spat.

“I told you what I knew about you to prove my credentials. To get your attention.”

“Well you have it, damn you! If you want to make friends, why attack my scouts in the woods? Why submit to imprisonment but refuse to identify yourself? Why wait for me?”

“Well, Isene, I thought you might recognize me.”

“How— how am I to know you?”

“Well I’m sure you know me, Isene. Many of my friends are yours now.”

The Inquisition… it was true that many of the Elves had returned to Skyhold once Inquisition forces had left and not long after word of the Inquisitor’s death had left the world in disarray. Almost no one had even noticed the old fortress come under new rule. 

But Isene had had enough of guessing, enough of her mind spinning in circles and Linna’s words crowding in her ears. Isene could only look down at the missing left arm, the same one Fen'Harel had taken from the Inquisitor four years ago at the ruins of Arlathan. Every agent knew the story well. Isene had been installed as little more than a servant girl in the Inquisition, watching and reporting both about the movements of major players as well as the opposing Qunari forces.

Isene’s large hands shot to the bars, gripping them tightly. “Look, either state your name here and now, or I will toss you over the waterfall myself! Step into the light!” 

An infuriating silence followed. Isene could not breathe for fear of the impossible coming true. If the Inquisitor were alive…

The woman stepped forward, at the same time raising her right hand above her head to throw her mantle aside. A wash of white hair fell over her shoulders, free of the bounds of the hood, and despite the color, the face of a young woman emerged. Her features were sharp, hawk-like, and her deep brown eyes sparkled with both mischief and intelligence. Thick kohl lined her eyes and her lips glimmered deep red. She grinned like a cat, sharp and feral.

No woman ever lived who looked so opposite of the Inquisitor. It knocked the breath from Isene, who nearly cried aloud with relief.

The white-haired stranger must have seen this. Her toothy grin faded to a mere smirk.

“Well, Lieutenant Isene. Fair’s fair. My name is Jenny. Red Jenny. And you must suspect by now that you’ve a rat in your castle.”

 


	2. Haven: 9:42 Dragon

_Haven: 9:42 Dragon, in the weeks following the emergence of the Breach ___

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Levellan sprinted through the woods surrounding Haven as if a Great Bear were hot on her heels. Legs springing onto a nearby tree root, she followed it uphill before she dismounted and continued running. 

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Her quarry, the young deer limping a dozen yards away, knew she was on its tail. She’d stepped like a fool, snapping a thicket of dry leaves under her feet. Her bow had been drawn, the tip of the arrow at her ear, but the sudden sound of the twig had startled her and the deer alike. The arrow loosed, flew wide and struck the creature on its hindquarters. A horrible shot— Levellan hadn’t erred so badly in years, and now the deer was doing its best to flee in agony. 

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She’d toed off her human boots before entering the woods, and her feet slapped against the muddy earth. Her bow remained in one hand, the silk string bumping against the bared flesh of her forearm. She’d always been the fastest, _most foolhardy _hunter in her clan, as Keeper Dashanna put it. Even deep into human territory, with a hole torn in the sky, she hadn’t forgotten the thrill of the chase. And also the responsibility that came with a bad shot.__

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Levellan drew back again, another arrow poised. Both her bow and arrows were shorter than a typical Dalish hunter’s, compensating for Levellan’s small stature. Longbows might be more powerful and have a longer range, but no longbow would allow her to draw so quickly. 

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“You draw on the wrong side! Your shots are always crooked!” Dashanna admonished in her head. It was the same whenever Levellan drew diagonally over the left side of the string rather than on the right. 

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She exhaled, and the arrow flew. The deer buckled as the shot lodged into its neck, snapping under the pressure of such short range. Holding her breath, Levellan approached the fallen corpse. What if it rose up as she’d seen other bodies done at the Conclave? What if its eyes blazed red and it spat and hissed at her – a demon?

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She shook off the feeling and prodded the dead animal with a toe before kneeling at its side. No, just a deer. The meat was still good despite the shoddy kill. She’d bring it back to Haven with her and share it amongst the hungry-looking soldiers. In speaking with the Requisition officer, she’d discovered that supply trains were difficult to maintain so far in the mountains, and meat was a precious commodity rarely afforded. The Inquisitions hunters were scattered as Leliana’s spies. Few stationed in Haven had the skills she did. 

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A lone wolf howled at the full moon, and Levellan jerked, bow suddenly in hand. Her sharp eyes scanned the surrounding forest, looking for the telltale shine of a predator’s eyes, and after a long moment of silence, she lowered the bow with a sigh. 

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Levellan had always been cautious— wary of predators in the woods, wary of humans in the cities, wary of Templars in search of mages, wary of bandits in search of victims, and now wary of demons. She’d never seen the sick, green-skinned horrors until the Conclave, and the fear that had pierced her then had barely allowed her to move her bow. Where she’d normally be able to take down an enemy with a single shot, maybe two, the demons remained as she stupidly struck their arms, shoulders, knees— wasting arrows and precious time. 

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“Coward,” she groused to herself as her skinning knife made quick work of the deer’s hide. Levellan could hear the disappointed voice of her Keeper at the back of her mind. 

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_Cleaning your kill at night in unfamiliar territory. You deserve whatever hardship befalls you, girl. ___

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“Like the end of the world, Dashanna?” Levellan grumbled, kneeling over the deer. 

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The light of the moon was bright enough to see by, and with the unnatural green of the hole in the sky rotating above, it might as well have been daylight. Nevertheless, Levellan didn’t drop her guard as she worked. Skinning and preparing a deer was as natural as scratching her own chin, and Levellan had everything – guts, muscle, fat, and brains – sorted in separate pouches at her side. The rest of it she was able to wrap carefully in a leather satchel, which was large enough to drag behind her. The elfroot, sage, and mint lining the fabric would prevent the scent from escaping and luring predators. Work finished, Levellan cleaned her fingertips off the back of her tunic, though she noted that was little blood on her hands. 

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The woods surrounding Haven were quiet, though not uncomfortably so. They surprised her in the gentle way the boughs of the trees sloped upward, how their leaves parted to reveal the stars above— the ones that could be seen when not drowned out by the green vortex in the sky. She swallowed, the fear suddenly returning like a knife in her heart. 

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What on earth had she gotten herself into? Her eyes drifted down from the sky to her left hand, innocuous enough while covered with fingerless gloves. Pulling back the swatch of leather that covered her palm, Levellan saw the green of the sky mirrored in her own flesh. 

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“Dread Wolf take me,” she cursed, clenching her fist shut. It was a nightmare she couldn’t escape. Sometimes she could feel the Mark like an itch at the base of her palm. When it’d first appeared, it stabbed in sharp agony all through her arm, as if someone had stuck a stiletto through her hand all the way to her elbow. When she sealed rifts in the Fade, it pulled like flexing a new muscle. In the night, it wobbled and ached, waking her from a dead sleep and begging to be worked. 

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When rifts were close, the ache grew until it became a compulsion. They had to be shut, had to be. This close to Haven, where all the rifts had been sealed within the first few days of her occupying the place, the Mark normally lay quiet in her arm, the only reminder being a tiny green light flickering in her palm. Sometimes when she worked herself up in anger or terror, it glowed brighter, and some of the humans were already identifying that as one of her tells. She noticed people’s eyes flicking down as they spoke with her, waiting for the light to glow or shrink and discern her moods that way. She’d taken to clenching her hands at her sides instead. 

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All at once, she wished desperately to be amongst her clan again, surrounded by familiar faces. Her mother would have insight into the Mark, even if was only a little. If nothing else, her comforting touch would soothe her heart if not the pain in her arm. Levellan’s eyes drifted upward, toward the Breach. 

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“Oh, mamae,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

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She’d been so desperate to answer Keeper Dashanna’s summons to spy on the Conclave all those months ago. It’d been her first and perhaps only chance to mend her ties with the Keeper and finally return to her place amongst the clan. Now she was further from home than ever. Levellan bowed her head, humming low to soothe herself if nothing else. How many nights had her own voice kept the darkness at bay, kept her own fresh tears from falling? Now she hummed one of the old songs her mother used to sing. Levellan kept her voice quiet for fear that a bear or some other wild beast might be attracted by the sound. 

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A branch snapped in the darkness. Levellan’s voice cut off on a high note. In a flash, she drew her bow, arrow already notched. Her sharp eyes scanned the trees, picking the shape of a figure out in the darkness. 

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“Come slowly,” she barked. “Hands up too.”

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Silently, the stranger obeyed, stepping from the shadow of the trees with his hands raised. On his back his staff gleamed, a red jewel embedded in the wooden knot work at the tip. As she took a cursory step forward to see him, his sharp features poked from the darkness. 

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They recognized each other in the same instant. 

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The elven man shook his head in relief, while Levellan relaxed her hold on her bow.

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“Oh,” she huffed, angry with herself for how terrified she’d been. “Sorry, ah…” Her mind, embarrassingly, blanked on his name. _Fool, _she admonished herself. _He’s saved your life, and you can’t be bothered to remember his name! _“Lethallan,” she supplied, taking another step forward.____

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He inclined his head, and by the mischief in his gaze, Levellan could tell he saw right through her. Naturally.

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“Forgive me,” he said. “I did not recognize you in the darkness. With your hood up, you could be anyone.”

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She shrugged. Levellan always kept her hood up, pinned to her unkempt hair on the top of her head, even when indoors. He should be used to it by now, but she waved off the apology without thought. 

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“Well. The Herald of Andraste,” he said in a clear voice. “The hero of legend, sent to save us all.”

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A little uncalled for, she thought bitterly. He hadn’t said the title in a scornful fashion, but the deadpan nature of his delivery certainly wasn’t complimentary. She stared back, unimpressed. She hadn’t forgotten his name to slight him!

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He hesitated at the hardened look in her eye. “Oh, you think I’m mocking you.”

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She raised her eyebrows.

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“I’m sorry,” he said dipping his head. “This age has made people cynical.” 

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The way he said it, like one of the elders in her clan lamenting how things “used to be” forced a laugh out of her. “Well, forgive me, hah’ren,” she chuckled. “I’m sure if someone started using only your title to address you, you might feel the same way.”

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He looked slightly affronted at the nickname, clearing his throat. “Like I said, I meant no offense. I was merely surprised to see you out in the woods alone. It’s not safe.”

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“I could say the same to you. I’m a hunter— well versed in most wooded areas on both sides of the Frostbacks. You’re, uh…” She glanced over his simple tunic and green vest, hardly enough to keep him warm in the elements much less protect him from attack. “Well, you’re not even armored.” 

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“Yes, but I’m not the H—” He seemed to think better of continuing when she gave him a scathing look. He lowered his eyes and caught sight of the wrapped deer trailing behind her. “You were hunting?”

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She grinned, jabbing her thumb over her chest. “Hunter, remember? We’ve little meat to spare, and I’m next to useless at the moment.”

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He made a small sound of disagreement. “Certainly not useless. But there’s not much else to do when waiting for reports to come back.”

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She shrugged. “There’s a war going on. Mages and Templars and everyone in between. People are dying. And what can I do?” She gestured to the deer. “That’s what I’m best at.”

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“Killing?” he remarked, though she could tell he meant it more as a jest than a rebuke. 

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“Providing. The Dalish are not farmers. We don’t stay in a place long enough to sow seed and reap crop. If you did not have hunters, you would starve.”

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He took a long look at her, his eyes so sharp and knowing that it made her uncomfortable. A lot about him made her uncomfortable, now that she thought of it. The staff at his back, for one thing. She’d been around Mages plenty of times. Her own kin raised Mages, yet they were also Dalish and could be trusted. But he moved magic as easy as flicking his hand, and worse, he’d exhibited an ability to feel it charging through the air with a sensitivity she’d never encountered before. Several times when the Inquisition’s forces had set out, she’d opted to leave him behind at Haven. Her excuse had been so he could resume research on the Breach, since he seemed to be the only one who knew anything about it, but in her heart she knew she’d prefer to have no Mages in her travelling party. Not when she knew she’d have to fight alongside one, have to feel the magic cracking through the air. 

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She swallowed under his scrutiny now, realizing all at once that there was a reason she’d been avoiding being alone with him. He was sharp as a knife, and his gaze spoke volumes as he assessed her. Yes, she’d seen her Keeper’s own appraising look too many times to mistake it for anything else. It made her skin crawl. 

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“So you choose to provide for humans now, not just your clan?” he said in a quiet voice, startling her.

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“They’ve been kind to me,” she returned without thinking. She thought of Cassandra’s unflinching support and the way Cullen looked at her when he thought she wouldn’t notice. Even the average citizens of Haven had never called her knife-ear, at least not her face.

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But the apostate scoffed. “They imprisoned you, threatened your life when the Breach first appeared, and conscripted you to help this Inquisition without so much as a request.”

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“To be fair, Cassandra seems to be… _like _that,” Levellan said without heat. She understood his line of thinking. How odd would it have seemed to her years ago when she’d first left her clan, a deep-seeded fear and hatred of shemlen in her heart? Now, as he said, she was trying to provide for them. She grinned at his puzzled expression. “I may be Dalish, but I’ve a bit more of the world in me than most.”__

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He nodded slowly. “I’ve guessed as much.”

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Wondering how much else he might have guessed about her, she suddenly decided it was time to return to Haven. “I should go back. Hah’ren,” she couldn’t resist adding with a dip to her head. 

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He sighed. “Allow me to help you with that. It must be heavy.”

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“No, no, you don’t—” 

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Against her will, he grabbed one of the cords attached to the sack holding the deer – it’d been designed so that several hunters could drag meat back together – and she gave up as he began pulling back towards Haven. 

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“Well, you’ve discovered my purpose in being out here,” she huffed, picking up another cord and helping him. “Why are you out in the wild woods?”

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“Worried for me, Herald?” he panted, and Levellan noted with just a little smugness how he struggled with the weight of the deer. She waited for his head to turn away and drew her own cord shorter to take the weight from him. 

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“It could be dangerous out here for you, hah’ren, since you’re so very old.”

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She didn’t look at him but could feel the burn of his eyes on her cheek as he glared at her. “If you must know, I was searching for a place to dream.”

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That brought her up short. She hauled the deer almost single-handedly over a stump before she could manage to answer. “To dream? Out here in the woods in the freezing cold?”

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“It seems I may have exhausted my resources dreaming in Haven proper. I thought a bit of distance might assist me.”

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“You’ve lost me,” she said. “Why would being out in the woods help you sleep better?”

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“Might we take a rest?” he asked suddenly. Levellan noticed that despite having a little trouble pulling the deer, there wasn’t any sweat on his forehead and he looked hale as ever. They hadn’t made it very far, but she suspected the twinkling light of Haven’s torches might have inspired him to stop rather than exhaustion. So, whatever he had to say wasn’t for human ears. Alright.

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“In dreams,” he said once she dropped the dragging cord, taking a place next to a tree and leaning against it, “I’ve journeyed deep into the Fade in ancient ruins and battlefields to see lost civilizations. I’ve watched a host of spirits clash to reenact the bloody past in ancient wars both famous and forgotten.”

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Levellan’s eyes widened, and a little bit of her discomfort gave way to fascination. “You’re somniari! Well, what those in Tevinter call a somniari,” she stammered. “You’re a Dreamer.” 

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He cocked an eyebrow, surprised at her analysis. “Yes.”

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She knew the tales of somniari well, those who could bend the Fade to their will in dreams, shape the details and memories of the Great Beyond and discover ancient truths. They were exceedingly rare. She’d only heard of one other in several generations. 

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“You know of Dreamers?” he asked. 

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“Yes, yes, ah.” She cleared her throat, tempering down her excitement. “Heard of them, of course. Most Dalish know— well, maybe not most know, but my clan…” She winced, caught between the desire to fabricate her dealings with Dreamers or to share tales of home with him. Lying amongst kin, even a non-Dalish, was difficult. “How is it for you?” she asked instead in a rush. 

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“In comparison to what?” he asked, and there was the damnable cleverness of his, those sharp eyes. 

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“In comparison to the stories,” she said swiftly, sure she hadn’t thrown him, but he’d at least have to accept her excuse for now. “They say some have to be drugged or inhale incense to sleep that deeply and that the Fade is a strange, mythical place where nothing can be pinned down and it all rushes at once. And even few Dreamers can manipulate the Fade to their will.”

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“Well,” he said after a pause, “It’s not a common field of study. Not so flashy as throwing fire or lighting. But the thrill of finding remnants of a thousand year old dream… I would not trade it for anything.” He gazed out toward the Frostback mountains, as if drinking in the view might inspire more of the Fade in him. The thought filled her with fear, of being in that place – no sturdy ground to plant her feet, relying only on will and memory to shape it. 

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“Interesting how you phrase it,” she muttered. “’A field of study,’ as if anyone could learn it. As if the Fade is just a book to be cracked open and not a place where Demons can take your very soul.”

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The wistful look on his face faded. “Anyone who has the inclination to learn certainly can. With time and practice. And perhaps some bravery.”

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She stiffened, narrowing his eyes at his change of tone. _Too damned clever. _“Bravery and thirst for power perhaps? I hear only Mages can dream into the Fade and that they only do so to seek out their desires.”__

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“True, the Fade does possess ways to find power for Mages. It is a Mage’s link to the Fade that gives them the ability to cast, and venturing into the Fade can only strengthen that connection. But I find that rather than only accepting Mages, the Fade seems willing to embrace any who don’t ignorantly assume it to be a place filled with only danger.”

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Whatever kinship she might have felt with him evaporated, and it was more than his words that stung her, but the way he spoke them, spiked with more meanings than one and obviously none of them charitable. She bent to retrieve the dragging cord once more. 

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“Interesting,” she heard from behind her. He hadn’t moved from his spot, even as she stepped away, hauling the deer behind her. “The Herald of Andraste. I wonder what kind of hero you’ll be? One who turns tail and flees at the first sign of opposition?”

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She spun, her temper snapping like a twig. “I’ll have you know that I didn’t ask for this! But someone’s got to seal the Breach!” She thrust her cursed hand upwards, toward the spiral of terror-inducing magic floating over their heads. “And despite all your supposed wisdom, hah’ren, it doesn’t look like that someone is you.”

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That got him. His eyes turned to flint, the line of his mouth thinning into an impatient line. She did her best not to crow at him and instead turned away. He said nothing to her retreating back. A few minutes later, when the gate of Haven was within eyeshot, she reflected over the exchange with a curse at herself. He’d called her childish and a coward, essentially, but Creators, was he wrong? 

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The gate groaned loudly as it opened, several of the Inquisition scouts peering out at her. 

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“Herald?” one asked. “Herald, you’re outside the gate!” 

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He hurriedly pushed it open the rest of the way, allowing her inside. Several other soldiers rushed to her side, and a cheer went up as they took in the deer carcass, wrapped safely in its confines. She couldn’t bring herself to smile at their heartfelt thanks as they took and cooked her kill, feeling as if she’d failed somewhere vital tonight.

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this story is turning into one of THOSE stories, where we're gonna be flirting back and forth between present with Lev and the new Red Jennies and past with Inquisitor Lev and the sweet love we got going down. 
> 
> Whoo hooooooo


	3. Skyhold: Dragon 9:48

_Skyhold: Dragon 9:48_

Ellana Levellan had been shot, stabbed, burned, and hexed in her time as Inquisitor. Even the most skilled healers couldn’t erase all her scars near the end. She’d dealt with the thinness of new skin over life-threatening wounds more times than she could count and knew the fresh agony of a broken heart. 

Despite being a mere alter ego, Jenny did not. Jenny swaggered, gnawing on her bottom lip because it made her look coy and brought a touch of red to her mouth. The gazes of men and women followed her wherever she went. Jenny filled Levellan with a terrible sense of purpose, and as Lieutenant Isene of the Dread Wolf’s impenetrable forces opened her cell door, Jenny grinned, took the woman’s hand, and clasped it to her own. 

Jenny, the most clever and miraculous of liars, didn’t bat an eye or wince in agony, as Isene led her upwards through the familiar bowels of Skyhold into the kitchens. Jenny even had the presence of mind to look grateful and give a charming grin to Isene’s armed guards as Isene’s assistant, Linna, offered her ale and warm bread. 

Levellan wrapped the mantle of Jenny around her like a cloak and bathed in the knowledge that despite her Enemy’s cleverness, power, magic, and forces, she’d been able to infiltrate the heart of his operation so easily. 

Two weeks of silence in a cage with nothing but her determination to keep her warm, and now she had the Dread Wolf’s right hand greedily eating out of her palm. That was the trick in the information game. Find the one thing someone even as powerful as Isene wants and watch her bend down low to pick it up. 

“There were all sorts of rumors flying around the place when you arrived,” Isene said as she drank her own warm ale. They sat at one of the kitchen’s worn tables, amongst half-cut vegetables and baskets full of wheat. In the brighter light, Levellan could finally take in the larger woman’s appearance. She was broader, stronger, and taller than any female that she’d ever encountered, human or elven, with her blonde hair cut short around her head. She didn't strike Levellan as particularly beautiful physically, with crooked nose, probably broken more than once in the past, and sharp cheekbones. However, the command she wielded so effortlessly with her natural grace gave her a form of charisma that bordered on attraction. 

“Oh?” Levellan tittered in Jenny’s thick accent. “Do tell.” 

Isene’s bright blue eyes flashed with amusement, leaping out of her fair-skinned face. They were eyes that had seen battle and blood and could turn cold at a moment’s notice. Her armor was sleek, the grey and black lining along the seams gleaming with protective magic. It reminded Levellan of Abelas at the Temple of Mythal. It seemed the Dread Wolf dressed his comrades well. 

As Isene described a case of mistaken identity, Levellan subtlety took in Isene’s entourage, the two masked guards that had stood sentinel outside her cell for the past fortnight, and a young woman, Linna, whose shock of bright red hair stood out from the muted colors in the kitchen. She looked Dalish so far as Levellan could tell, despite that she lacked Vallasiln. She wore her curly red hair down so it flowed past her shoulders. While it looked comely, Levellan doubted it would serve the girl well in battle. Not well versed then. An attendant. She eyed the stack of papers sealed to a wooden board in her arms. At the head of the board, a single candle burned. 

Isene cleared her throat once her tale was over, pointedly looking Levellan up and down. “So, you’re Red Jenny. I’ve heard all sorts of things about you. Years ago, your organization was just a bunch of pranksters, and your leader’s name certainly wasn’t Jenny. I knew Sera, when she was of the Inquisition. Your name never came up.”

“That’s rather the point of being a Jenny though, isn’t it?” Levellan said smoothly. She’d told this story a thousand times by now. “We’re all Jenny— even Sera was, when she needed it. What she wanted was simple, like me. Find out when the rich asses up top got too out of hand and put them back in their place. We were doing just that when one day I turned around and Sera was gone. Next I heard from her, she was Inquisition.”

She pulled a swig of her ale, making sure Isene was buying it. Out of the corner of her eye, the broader elf’s face was open, curious. At her side, Linna gaped openly.

“But years later that all ended,” she continued. “The Vints and Qunari were hell bent on all out war, and wars mean soldiers, supplies, mages— slaves, yeah? Both sides got ballsy, stole kids straight from their mum’s arms. People thought it’d be just the northern towns, but it wasn’t.”

“So it’s true?” Linna butted in. Levellan could tell by Isene’s pursed lips that it wasn’t a welcome intrusion. “The Jennies really went to Tevinter and Par Vollen, and freed all the slaves?”

In her mind’s eye, Levellan could hear the sounds of screaming children and feel their dirty naked bodies in her hands as she lifted them one by one out of the steel cages and into the arms of a waiting Jenny. “Not all,” she muttered.

Linna leaned forward. “I heard that both Tevinter and the Qunari ordered a ceasefire to run a manhunt for the Jennies.”

An exaggeration, so far as Levellan was concerned, but she didn’t deny it. Just shrugged and knew by the sudden admiration in Isene’s eyes that she’d succeeded. Less was always more. Jenny knew that.

“Simply said, but I’m sure it wasn’t simply done,” Isene corroborated. “An undertaking like that on two powerful nations already at war with each other, both famed for using Mages.”

“Well, you make it sound so hard when you put it like that, Isene.” She winked at Linna, whose face flushed as red as her hair. “They were at war with each other. No time to go after the crows poking at your head when someone’s coming at you with a pickaxe. 

“Justifiable, unless you let those crows pluck out your eyes,” Isene shot back with a grin.

Levellan faltered. Behind that look, she saw Solas’s keen wit, and her heart stuttered. It was something he’d say, down to the little curl his tongue would make over the word “pluck.” How long had Isene known him?

_Longer than I did,_ Levellan thought traitorously. All these long years she had struggled to come up with a plan fool-proof enough to leap into his organization, and now that she was on the cusp of succeeding, she felt cold dread on the back of her neck, the same feeling she got when she stepped into the ancient ruins— that something bigger was watching, waiting for her to make one wrong step. She stifled the feeling with another toothy grin, one that she knew pulled at the corner of her eyes and made her face look sharper. 

Isene’s fingers tapped at the table. “I recall you saying something about a rat when we pulled you from the dungeons, Jenny,” she said slowly. 

“Ah.” Levellan had been wondering when she’d ask. “The little vermin problem you’ve been having.”

“Do you have any proof to substantiate your claim?”

There it was again. Words like _substantiate_ reeked of Solas. No elf of Kirkwall talked like that. 

“Were my people released the same time as I was?” she asked. 

Linna stepped forward to respond. “Yes, though, a few of them asked if they could leave, under supervision. I sent them with two of our guards.”

Levellan shrugged and downed the last of her ale with a flourish, to distract from where she pressed an amulet hanging around her neck. She felt the dim magic swirl beneath her fingers and knew her men were returning to Skyhold. She tapped twice, and two pulses answered her.

She slammed the tankard down on the table with a sigh. Jenny liked booze, and Levellan liked it when the recurring ache in her chest faded as the ale took its effect. “If ya like, we should head outside. Isene, I got you a present.”

Levellan tried not to take in her surroundings as they ventured down the steep path towards Skyhold’s expansive drawbridge. Two weeks ago, when they’d dragged her through these gates, bound and blind-folded, she’d been grateful to not see the place that had most felt like home, and now she couldn’t afford to be taken with nostalgia. Instead she focused on the three guards only a few paces behind her and Isene. One of them was certainly a mage, she noted from the way he palmed a wooden staff and didn’t look her in the eye. The other two looked to be warrior-types, though she couldn’t see their faces behind two old Inquisition helmets. 

A gust of cold wind caught her hair and flooded her with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia. The howling breeze at sunset, the feel of the cool earth beneath her boots— she knew this path so well that her foot lifted automatically, avoiding a clump of debris they’d never managed to clear from the pathway. 

Only the warm burning of the amulet against her collarbone kept her present, and when they finally arrived at the main gates— closed to prevent intruders, which was a sharp contrast to how the Inquisition had always left them wide open— she wasn’t surprised to see four horses thundering down the stone parapet. 

Linna’s gasp was audible even over the howling wind. “How did you know they were coming?”

Levellan didn’t answer, but a glance toward Isene confirmed that the more seasoned warrior would be more difficult to impress. “You mind openin’ the gates for my friends?”

Isene nodded towards the guards on the ramparts, watching Levellan with narrowed eyes as they scampered to raise the gates. They groaned mightily in protest as they creaked upwards an inch at a time, and Levellan stifled the automatic order to have those hinges well oiled.

The two scouts of Red Jenny slowed their breakneck speed. Levellan noted froth at both horses’ mouths and kept the smirk on her face as the pair dismounted with ease. Behind them, Isene’s escorts stayed mounted, their faces unmasked and grim-faced. They looked to Isene and dipped their heads in unison.

“There’s someone with them,” Linna said, gesturing toward a third figure, still saddled, a hood pulled over his head. 

Jenny’s scouts approached on foot. Brinn and Hart were their names—city elves from the Free Marches. Brinn’s green tunic sported a deep slash along the shoulder, but it looked old and threadbare. The look in her eyes was flinty, broken only by a sharp smile as she greeted Levellan. At her side, Hart didn’t say a word. He was tall for an elf with broad shoulders and at his hip his long sword remained sheathed.

“Have a good time, lads?” Levellan asked, letting her head tilt to one side as her smile remained cocksure.

“You were right, boss.” Brinn dragged the hooded man down from her horse by his collar, tossing him on the ground in front of Isene. “He ran but didn’t fight when we got him. Not after seeing Fen’Ha-whatsis’ people with us.”

“E-excuse you! Fen’Harel will not be spoke of in such a—” Linna protested sharply, but Isene raised her hand, looking up towards one of her scouts.

“Report.”

“Lieutenant,” Isene’s scout said as he dismounted, warily approaching at the side of Jenny’s friends. Brinn unabashedly leaned back, looking up and down his posterior. The poor elf noticed but kept his voice even as he produced a letter from his coat. The red seal on its front was broken. “We found this on him.”

“Give it to me.” Isene snatched the offered parchment, her eyes roving the papers. “My movements.” She crumbled the missive in her hands. “Hood off him, Scout.”

Brinn gleefully stepped forward before Isene’s men could obey, jerking the hood off and exposing a young male elf. He groaned, blinking heavily. Levellan saw tear tracks streaming down his face and knew it wasn’t from the bright light. 

“Mirwen!” Isene thundered, and before anyone could stop her, she backhanded the boy across the face. He cried out, his body flung from the power in her arm and into the dirt. “You’ll pay for this betrayal, you treasonous snake!”

“Lieutenant!” Levellan wasn’t surprised to see Linna kneel next to the poor boy, her hands hovering over him as if afraid to touch him. Beside her, Brinn laughed, enjoying the drama. 

“Back away from him, if you know what’s good for you, Linna,” Isene snarled. In the dirt, Mirwen sobbed into the damp earth, but Levellan had no eyes for the boy or for Isene. She watched Linna and waited. Her curly red hair blew in Skyhold’s high winds, obscuring her face for a moment. She trembled but remained beside Mirwen for a moment longer, her hands slipping into the crease of Mirwen’s green coat. It was so quick and obscured by the riot of color of her hair, that Levellan doubted Mirwen even felt his newly placed burden.

Isene charged forward and Linna scampered out of the way as she grabbed Mirwen by the collar, hoisting him up. Isene was taller than most humans, and she certainly towered over Mirwen, who was little more than a wisp of a boy. His feet dangled in the air. 

“Who do you work for, snake? What was the purpose of monitoring my movements?”

“L-lieutenant,” Mirwen stammered through his tears. His jaw was red where Isene had struck it. “No one. I serve Fen’Harel. I want freedom for the elves—I swear—”

“You’re _lying_!” Isene dropped him like a sack of flour, and he crumpled to the ground at her knees. Levellan had eyed the powerful-looking Wave Blade in Isene’s sheath upon first meeting her. From the red and green rune on the pommel, she could see it was enchanted to be especially effective against demons. Isene drew it with a flourish, and the moment her hand touched the hilt, red fire blazed to life, extending far beyond the tip of the sword. Two rune slots then. Now Mirwen trembled uncontrollably, fresh tears leaking from his eyes.

“Please, Lieutenant, you know me— what the Dread Wolf did for me— I’d never—”

“That’s what makes this worse, Mirwen,” Isene hissed. “He saved you and your family from extermination, and this is how you repay him? Treachery? Lies? He trusted you enough to be at my side at Tarasy’lan Te’las, and now you’re worse than dead! You’re a liability!” 

Mirwen’s face crumpled, and he sputtered in between sobs until Levellan could no more distinguish words than his tears. His whole frame shook, down to the ends of his shaggy brown hair. Nothing more than a boy in a conflict too large for him to handle. It was all so familiar that Levellan felt sick.

The display seemed to disgust Isene, who used the pommel of her sword to bash him over the head. He shrieked, face down in the dirt, his neck bared for execution. 

“No, no! Please, I was just following orders!”

Isene raised the sword, unheeding, but Levellan stepped forward. 

“Whose orders?”

She could feel Isene’s wrathful gaze on the back of her head. This was a risk, but a calculated one. Jenny couldn’t give Isene a mere grunt and expect to be taken into the fold. No, Isene’s unquestioning loyalty to the Dread Wolf made it obvious that Levellan couldn’t only prove herself useful— but devout as well. She’d have to deliver a larger target. 

“Whose orders, boy?” she pressed, hardening her voice. It was the tone she’d used in the past as Inquisitor, when questioning enemies with her hands around their necks. 

“I…” Mirwen’s eyes darted frantically toward Linna then back to the earth. “Missives. Written orders. I always thought they were from the Dread Wolf, or… or even you, Lieutenant.”

“And why would I give you orders to track my movements?” Isene spat. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know!”

Levellan spun, facing Isene and her guards. “One of the shite things about having a secret club, Isene. Everything becomes a secret, even who tells you what to do.”

Isene’s eyes still blazed with fury, but the sword in her hand dropped an inch. “You’re telling me, Mirwen, that you’ve been receiving orders from who you thought was the Dread Wolf?”

“Or… perhaps, I thought, it might be Abelas.”

Levellan kept the shock off her face. Abelas was in league with the Dread Wolf? Why?

“Bite your tongue!” Isene snatched Mirwen’s face in her mighty palm, squeezing so hard that Mirwen cried out. “You expect me to believe you? You think I’m foolish enough to swallow whatever pack of lies you speak to save your own skin?”

“They’re not lies, p-please! I’ve gotten them for months. I thought… I thought this was how things were done. Two-fold orders. I might be watching you, but someone else was probably watching me, right? We survive by being cautious, by making sure that the Dread Wolf’s plans are not discovered, that he is never found!”

“Shut up!” 

From the corner of her eye, Levellan watched Linna like a hawk. In this sort of situation, it wouldn’t be uncharacteristic for someone as seemingly innocent as Linna to look horrified, but that wasn’t what Levellan saw when she looked toward the smaller elven woman. Linna’s fists were clenched at her sides, jaw firm, resigned. She knew what she was inflicting on the boy at her feet. Her dark eyes were the only part of her that betrayed fear. They darted to Mirwen’s jacket, where she had stashed some form of contraband before. Well. 

“Search him,” Levellan said. 

“What?” Linna cried the same instant that Isene cocked her head to look her in the eye. 

“What would the point of searching him again be?” Isene looked to her men. “I assumed you did a thorough check on him during his capture?”

Brinn stepped forward. “Most thorough. Trust us.”

Isene’s eyes flashed with a challenge. “Well, Jen?” 

She shrugged. “Fine, then don’t search him. If you’re pissed with yourself later, it won’t be on me.”

A moment passed where no one moved, then suddenly Mirwen’s face was in the dirt again with Isene’s hands roughly tearing at his clothes. “Jenny, I swear to all of Thedas that if you’re intentionally leading me about by my damn nose, I’ll—”

She paused as she reached into Mirwen’s jacket, her hand obviously finding something she didn’t expect. Slowly, she drew a single folded card from the boy’s pocket. This note had no seal, and as Isene opened it, standing, Levellan could tell by the light that the letter was only half-written. 

“It’s not me who’s leading you by your nose,” Levellan said, careful not to cast her eyes about to those present. “What’s it say?”

“It’s… another order, half written, ink smeared.” Isene dragged her fingers along the parchment, and scoffed as they came away black. “Still wet.”

“Somebody trying to cover their tracks,” Brinn chimed in. “Makes sense. You chop off the lad’s head and it’s unlikely that anyone cares what else is in his pockets.”

“And how do we know you didn’t plant it while we rode over here?” Isene’s guard accused. 

Brinn’s smile turned feral, but before anything could come of it, Isene raised her hand, glaring at Levellan. 

“You’re the one who said I should search him. Why? What did you see?”

Levellan could feel Linna tense at her side, breath held in her chest. 

“You’ve proof right there in your hand. You need me to spell it out, then?”

“It’s just another order,” Linna protested, quivering. She was losing her edge and Levellan wondered what form of explosion would happen once Isene looked harder at the letter and saw the strand of red dangling off the bottom. 

“In my hand,” Isene growled, ignoring Linna as she lifted her large fingers up. The strand of curly red hair nearly blew free in a particularly strong gust of wind, but Isene snatched it mid air. The very end, where Linna’s hair naturally curled, was still caught in between the folded paper. 

Isene’s blue eyes clouded briefly, stung at the betrayal, and Levellan’s suspicions were mirrored as fact in that gaze. The Divine had said that she had a low-level informant placed, making way for Jenny’s arrival. Leliana had called her the Scribe, a little on the nose under present circumstances. 

“Linna?” Isene whispered, her barely contained fury like a flood beneath frozen ice. One crack, and it’d shatter. “You? Of all people?”

Linna’s sweet demeanor shattered. “I’m Dalish, _Midha_. I will not let the Dread Wolf, who sealed our gods away, take the rest of the world with him! He’s a murderer!”

Isene’s guards lunged forward, both gripping Linna on either arm, while Isene’s wave blade roared to life in her hands. 

“Isene wait!”

“Jenny, you step aside or I’ll cleave you in two with her!”

Levellan didn’t doubt Isene’s words and took a step back. “Isene, if the boy was a little pawn, then you know this one’s got info, yeah? She knows who she works for. We get the answers from her…” She turned back to Linna. “One way or another.”

“I won’t talk!” Linna shrieked, and she thrashed as the guards tightened their grip. Too tight. Something was wrong. 

“Isene—”

Before she could utter another word, Levellan felt a blast of magic slice through the air. It was so pungent, she nearly choked, but gathering her own magic stemmed the tide if only for a moment. 

With a quick jerk of her arms, Linna broke free of the guard’s grip as they stumbled back, gagging on air. At Levellan’s side, Isene was in a similar state of disarray, the tip of her blade lowered as her other hand gripped her mouth and nose. Linna roared, taking a vicious-looking knife from her sleeve and charging towards Isene. 

Levellan’s heart wrenched as she stepped forward, one hand flung wide to catch Linna’s knife in her palm, while the other gripped her staff at her back. The slicing pain as the knife ran her hand through sharpened Levellan’s focus to a find edge. She roared, a blast of magic echoing from her staff, and suddenly the thick veil of fog burst from within, an unnatural wind blowing the traces of smoke into every direction. 

Levellan cried at the agony in her hand, suddenly face to face with an astounded Linna. She had an instant to look into the girl’s eyes, see the loyalty, bravery, and desperation in that gaze, before a shadow fell over them both. 

“For the Inquisitor,” Linna said, closing her eyes as Isene’s sword mowed through her head like a hot knife through butter. Levellan flinched as Linna’s blood splattered all over her face and neck. The girl’s blade dragged free of Levellan’s hand as she collapsed, nearly cut in two. 

“Jen!” Isene caught Levellan as she stumbled away from the corpse, feeling the burn of Isene’s blood-soaked blade on her right side, while the other hand gripped her firmly in the other. She couldn’t take her eyes off Linna, who’s blood and meat oozed out of her slowly onto the grass. When the Inquisition first moved to Skyhold, they’d had an impromptu infirmary in this very courtyard. This ground was used to soaking up blood, but not like this. Linna’s face was no longer visible, both halves of her head turned downward into the dirt. 

_For the Inquisitor._

“Jenny, you right?” Brinn was at her side, lifting her hand and wrapping it. 

“Any poison?” Isene was still there. Her sword blazed in her loosened grip, burning Levellan with its proximity. 

Brinn dragged her finger down Levellan’s wound, licking the red patch that came on her thumb. “Nah. She’ll be all right if we get her to a healer. That girl’s blade was going for your face, though, lady.”

One of Isene’s guards scoffed. “You will refer to the Lieutenant—” 

“Enough!” Isene bellowed, and all was quiet. “She’s right. Jenny.”

Levellan dragged her eyes away from Linna. Jenny wouldn’t care. Jenny would love to play the hero. She got off on the attention. With great difficulty, Levellan forced Jenny’s smile. “That takes care of your rat, then, eh?”

Isene nodded, appropriately serious given the gravity of the situation. “Yes. You’ve given me my rat. At great expense, I’ll add. Mirwen—”

The boy, still red-faced and in shock, did not lift his eyes from Linna’s body. Isene didn’t push him. 

“It seems you weren’t at fault here. Clean yourself up and go to the kitchens. When you’re able, report to me.” She waited patiently for him to nod his head. “Good. Guards, clean this up. Linna’s actions cannot be wide spread. I must go. The Dread Wolf will want to hear of this.”

Brinn wrapped a hand around Levellan’s arm as Isene made for the keep. Levellan could feel Brinn’s inhale, ready to say something sharp, but she gripped her hand before she could. 

“Where’s my room at, Isene?” she called. “I think I’ll need a nap after all the excitement.”

Isene paused. “Quite right. Your rooms will be arranged once you visit the infirmary. We welcome you, Red Jenny, and your Friends to Tarasy’lan Te’las.”

~

Levellan hadn’t needed much care with the healers. She’d have been content to leave the cut if the sting didn’t bring up fresh horrors. A day back at Skyhold, and she’d already been apart of bloodshed. Not just anyone, either. One of Leliana’s spies and obviously loyal to a fault. Two more escorts lead Levellan to her room. She made small talk with them, smile still wide and full of mischief. By the time they ascended the stairs to her quarters, she’d made at least one of them blush and look down at his toes. They pivoted at the top of the stairs, towards the outside walkway to the series of rooms that lined the corridor. Skyhold’s design was rather clever in that most of the sleeping areas were hidden beneath the tower at the core of the mountain. It easily kept the general populace warm despite the frigid air outside. Their quarters were designed in a honeycomb of rooms, one after the other after the other. You could get lost searching for a guard’s room. These higher rooms, however, were more spread apart and larger so visiting dignitaries could feel more taken care of but also closely watched. When exiting one of these rooms, there were no corners to hide. If someone wished to watch Jenny’s movements, they only had to camp out on the battlements, where guards normally patrolled anyway. Genius, though unwelcome. Levellan had thought she’d earned Isene’s trust with her display, but she grudgingly accepted that some bridges merely took time to build. Levellan, however, didn’t have all the time in the world. 

“This me then?” she gestured towards the solid wooden door before her. “When’s supper?”

“You’ve missed it, but we can have a crust brought up for you if you wish,” one of her guards said, but Levellan waved him off. 

“Only if you bring it personally, lad,” she said with a wink. He blushed hotly at her raised eyebrow and muttered something before he and his companion swiftly bounded away. 

Levellan didn’t waste time in the open, slowly opening the door to her chambers. The room was modestly furnished and only slightly more cold than the keep with the window open on the far end. A low-sitting bed lay in the far corner, fresh sheets tucked into the bottom, while a few modest articles of furniture sat beside it. Mercifully, someone had already filled the washbasin, and Levellan ran the cold water over her face and neck before even dropping her pack on the stone floor. 

As usual, avoided looking at her own reflection too closely. Watching a different face make her expressions was jarring, even after this long. 

Linna’s blood, however, still itched at her hairline and beneath her neck. She scrubbed methodically, careful not to be too frantic with the washing lest she redden her face. Jenny didn’t balk at other people’s blood, and she had no cause to care about some spy. Levellan clenched her jaw and worked in silence, gently, and let the pain wash through her. When she was finished, the water in the basin swirled red and brown. 

She grabbed the basin and a small stone out of her pack, venturing over to the far window, which faced the mountains. Their purple facades, dim and hazy with the sun fully set, once so calming, only sunk her heart deeper. Slowly, Levellan poured the basin’s water down the side of the stone wall, letting the blood wash over the stone in her hand. When she pulled it away, the shape of a bird gleamed in the light of the setting sun, stained red and gold. Levellan bent to the stone, brought it to her mouth, and whispered the words Leliana had taught her while pouring an inkling of magic into the solid rock. 

In an instant, the stone burst in her hands, an inconspicuous pigeon perched on the edge of her hand. Levellan was rather surprised it wasn’t a crow with how keenly it seemed to observe her, bright unnatural eyes still and peering into her very soul. 

“I’ve arrived,” she whispered to the bird. It barely moved. “I’m sorry, my friend, but nothing could be done for the Scribe. She forced the _Midha’s_ hand. One day, you might know the full story. For tonight, you’ll know I’m here. And I’m safe.” She looked further out to the horizon, releasing the bird from her grasp. As if suddenly, truly brought to life, the pigeon’s wings furled and it bolted into the air clumsy and inconspicuous. A wolf howled from somewhere in the mountains, and Levellan shivered. She imagined giant jaws leaping from the earth and snatching the bird and her message from thin air. What if Leliana’s clever spell was no match for The Dread Wolf’s cunning, and he found it anyway? What would he do?

“Safe for now,” she muttered, and slammed the window shut.

**Author's Note:**

> So! Our sweet lady Levellan has passed into the beyond... OR HAS SHE? 
> 
> The start of a new series that (hopefully) won't spiral into a long, complicated, crazy story. I try to keep things simple. Makes it easier to write! I'm not George R.R. Martin! 
> 
> I get so happily overwhelmed with the amount of lore in the DA series and all the delightful places to slip in characters and facts and history tid-bits.


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